


Yet She Stepped Out All The Same - Jon x Sansa drabbles

by azulaahai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AUs, a collection of all my jonsa tumblr drabbles, canon divergent AUs, most of these are prompt fills I think, you get a drabble! and YOU get a drabble! and YOU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 17:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15562359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/pseuds/azulaahai
Summary: A collection of my shorter Jon x Sansa drabbles from tumblr.





	1. "Would You Like To Hold Your Grandchild?"

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to post my shorter drabbles on ao3 as well, most of these are not long enough to be posted as one-shots but to keep organized and to know where I can find them, here are lots, and lots of jonsa drabbles, mainly prompt fills, in random order. In the chapter summary I'll put the prompt and/or AU.  
> They're all originally from my tumblr - I'm azulaahai on there as well :)
> 
> This first one is a canon divergent AU based on an anonymous first sentence prompt.

"Would you like to hold your grandchild?"

No one can quite believe its him who’s asked her the question - not even Jon himself. Catelyn was never fond of him, and even since he and Sansa got married every interaction between them has been awkward at best. Now, she stares at him, at the little bundle in his arms, with child-like wonder.

Her voice is sort of trembling when she answers.

“Yes I -” She stops herself, voice breaking. “Yes I would.”

Sansa looks on from the bed and Ned from the doorway, both a little breathless as Jon carefully, gently places his daughter in her grandmother’s arms. He takes a few steps back, then, going to sit by Sansa, leaving Catelyn to marvel at the babe’s tiny little fingers, at the sky blue eyes she’s inherited from her mother, at the little gurgling sounds she’s making.

It takes a while for anyone to find words after that.

When Ned breaks the silence it’s with a question.

“What are you naming her?”

Sansa takes Jon’s hand, squeezes it gently as if in reassurance.

And Jon swears he sees tears in Ned’s eyes as he answers.

“Lyanna.”


	2. Not Meant For This To Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU based on a first sentence prompt by @amymel86.

It’s not like Jon had meant for any of this to happen.

He was supposed to have been home early - it was date night, a sacred, Wednesday night, and this one he’d been looking forward to an embarrassing amount, what with work having been so crazy and his time with Sansa unpleasantly limited. Yet here he was, the long-awaited wednesday had arrived, and boom - another crisis to deal with at work. He’d been forced to stay late.

And no, he hadn’t meant for it to happen, but damn if he didn’t feel guilty.

“Sans?” he called out as soon as he opened the door, turning the lights on in the hallway - it was pitch black outside. As he heard no reply, he stepped into the living room.

Jon didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this - he felt almost weepy at the sight of pure domestic bliss before him; Sansa, in sweatpants on the couch, mouth slightly parted as she snored softly, Ghost curled up by her feet.

As Jon fetched a blanket to lay over her and reached for the remote to turn off the tv, that was still running some sitcom, he promised himself he’d make it up to Sansa.

Soon.


	3. The One Where Sansa's Angry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon/canon divergent AU, based on a first sentence prompt by @visenyastargaryen.

Sansa caught Jon's arm, angry.

“What in …” Jon had not seen her sneak up on him, and her hold on his arm startled him, to say the least. Even more surprised was he, however, at his wife’s appearance - everything about it, her posture, her clenched jaw, the way she held his arm as if it owed her gold - told a single, alarming tale.

Sansa was angry. Livid, in fact.

Jon swallowed, bracing himself for the argument to come, but the surprises were apparently not over, and neither was his confusion - Sansa’s face suddenly lit up in a dashing smile, as she nodded to one of the lords while they passed him in the crowded courtyard.

“Sansa, what are you …”

“Shhh”, she snarled, tightening her grip on his arm as she continued to courteously greet their subjects in passing as they walked. “I have to speak to you. In my chambers. I do not wish to cause a scene.”

A flicker of amusement in Jon at that, and his heart swelled with affection - Sansa, sweet Sansa, so concerned with maintaining a united front she refused to have the smallest of quarrels with him in public.

“Fine, then. Your chambers.”

Jon had no idea what had her so riled up, but he had a sneaking suspicion he was about to find out.

Oh well.

As long as she did not stay mad at him for too long.

But then again, she rarely did.


	4. Uncle Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy modern AU based on a face painting photo prompt for @jonsa-creatives spring challenge 2018

“That’s the last one,” Jeyne declared, relief prominent in her voice as the little boy she’d just painted whiskers and a pink nose on ran back to his parents. “It’s time to pack up. It’ll be getting dark soon.”

The yearly fair held to raise money for the Night’s Watch, an old, acclaimed charity organisation focused on protecting northern wildlife and keeping the wilderness reserve open to the public, was coming to an end. Sansa and Jeyne had volunteered at the face painting stand the entire day, and while Sansa had  surprisingly enjoyed herself quite a bit, her friend was right.

It  _was_  time to pack up.

Sansa got to her feet, helping Jeyne pack away the equipment.

“I’ll take these to the car -”, Jeyne said, gesturing to two bags, “- if you pack away the colors and take down the sign.” Sansa nodded, doing as she was told while her friend slowly made her way towards the parking lot.

“Excuse me?” a high-pitched voice asked behind her. Sansa spun around to find a dark-haired little girl looking up at her with big, brown eyes.

“Is this where you do the face painting?” the girl asked politely. Sansa bit her lip.

“Yes. Or it was, but now …” She hesitated. Sansa hated letting people down. “Well, the truth is, it’s getting late, and we were just closing up …”

“I’m too late, ain’t I?” the girl asked, her lower lip beginning to tremble. Sansa looked around. Everyone was packing up around them, but Jeyne was still nowhere to be seen.

“You know what?” she said to the child. “If we hurry, I think we have time for one more face painting, don’t you?” The girl lit up, eyes sparkling as she literally jumped up and down.

“Yes! Thank you!”

Sansa smiled as she opened the palette of colours again.

“What’s your name?” she asked the girl.

“Elia.”

“Nice name”, Sansa said. “Mine’s Sansa.”

She was just about to ask what kind of a painting the girl wanted, when she came to think of something.

“Uhm, Elia?”

“Yes?” the girl said, beginning to look impatient.

“Where are your parents?”

“At home.”

“Are you here by yourself!?” Sansa asked.

“Nooo”, the girl said as she rolled her eyes, making Sansa press her lips together to stifle a smile. “I’m here with my uncle. There he is”, she said, pointing behind Sansa, who turned to see a man, surprisingly young and annoyingly handsome, hurry towards them.

“ _There_  you are, El!” he exclaimed as he came closer. He was wearing an adorkable t-shirt that said  _I am the watcher on the wall_ , his hair an unruly mess, and Sansa found him so irresistibly cute she had trouble breathing.

“I  _told_  you I was going to get a face painting”, the little girl - Elia - said with an amount of attitude that stood in such sharp contrast to her appearance that Sansa once more had to fight back a smile. Elia’s uncle seemed to have trouble to keep from laughing as well as he tried - and utterly failed - to frown at his niece.

“And  _I_  told  _you_ that it was too late to get a face painting”, he replied, in a mockingly sassy tone that had first Elia, then Sansa giggling before she could help herself. “Hi”, the uncle then nodded  in Sansa’s general direction, with a disarming smile that had her blushing. “I’m sorry. Elia, we’re leaving.”

“No, we’re not! She said she’d paint me!”

“Elia, come on - we don’t want to delay her.”

“I’m  _not_  going until I get a face painting.” 

“Yes, you are”, the uncle said, but he didn’t sound so sure. Uncle and niece frowned at each other in silence for a moment.

“Really, uhm”, Sansa said, since she felt like she had to say something. “It’s fine. I can do a face painting, it’s no problem. I’ll make it quick.”

The uncle stopped frowning, turning to her with an apologetic expression on his face.

“Are you sure? We don’t want to bother you …”

“It’s fine.” Sansa looked at Elia again, who had a pleased smile playing at her lips. “What kind of a painting do you want?”

“I want to be a wolf”, Elia said without missing a beat. Sansa patted the chair, and the girl took a seat and closed her eyes as Sansa began working.

“Are wolves your favorite animal?” Sansa asked, giving the girl a pitch-black nose and beginning on an outline of the ears.

“Yes”, Elia said, sitting admirably still. “Uncle Jon loves them too.” Sansa smiled again, daring a glance in the uncle’s - Jon’s, his name was Jon - direction, and if she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought the man was blushing.

“I … uhm, I wouldn’t say love”, he coughed. “I’ve worked with the Watch a lot, with the wolf preserve, and I mean, you do get a little … attached.”

“Yeah”, Sansa agreed, switching brush to begin colouring, too shy to look up at him again, “I see your point. My dad’s been involved since I was little, and sometimes it feels like us kids are part wolf.”

“’Us kids?’ You have siblings?” He sounded genuinely curious. Sansa attempted to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as she answered.

“Yep. Four of them.”

“My god.” She could hear his smile, even as she focused on the face painting.

“I know. Full house.”

“I hear you. I have three half siblings, plus an aunt that is about my age.”

“Oh? That’s unusual.”

“It’s complicated”, he smiled. Sansa swallowed. “But I got some nephews out of the ordeal, and a  _charming_ niece.” He patted Elia’s hair.

“That’s me”, Elia said, making Sansa smile once more as she made a last stroke with the brush.

“There you go!” Sansa said, grabbing the mirror so that the girl could have a look. Elia opened her eyes, met her own eyes in the mirror - and let out a shout of joy, before beginning to loudly howl like a wolf.

Jon and Sansa looked at each other, and Sansa giggled in a way she hadn’t for years.

“Elia?” Sansa said, when she’d caught her breath a little, feeling wonderfully light-hearted. She could feel Jon’s eyes on her, a fact that made a pleased shiver crawl up her spine. The little girl looked up at her. “If you have time -” Sansa looked at Jon, who nodded. “- I know the horse-riding has probably closed by now, but my sister works in the stable, so if you run and tell her that Sansa’s sent you you can probably get to ride on one of the ponies, if you’d like?”

Elia laughed, adorably saying “thank you, thank you!” again before running away towards the stables. Sansa smiled again. Arya would like that girl.

“Hey”, Jon said now, and Sansa felt herself blush once more. God, she hated being a redhead. It completely destroyed your abilities to act relaxed. “Thank you. I mean, really. You saved the day. Thanks  _so_  much … uhm …”

“Oh”, Sansa said. “Sansa.”

“I’m Jon.”

“I know”, she blurted out without thinking, making her blush all the more furious. “Uncle Jon.” He grinned at that.

“That’s what I’m known as around here, huh? Uncle Jon.”

“Hello, uncle Jon. I’m Sansa the face panting lady.” She held out a hand. He shook it. He had a good handshake - her father always said you could judge a man on his handshake.

“So … uhm … Sansa the face painting lady,” he looked at the ground, adorably shy again. “If, I was, say … to find myself really, really needing a face painting … I’m talking acutely, a real emergency …” Sansa giggled again. “… could I, uhm, maybe call you up?”

“Yeah. But only if it’s really an emergency.”

He took out his phone, still smiling, and she added her number, accurately naming her contact “Sansa Face Painter”.

“I should go after Elia and she how much trouble she’s caused”, he said, sounding legitimately regretful to leave as he put his phone back in his pocket. “But … I’ll call? A strictly face-painting-related call, of course.”

“Of course. Please do.”

He turned and walked away towards the stables, and Sansa felt like doing a little happy dance.

Jon had only been gone a few seconds before Jeyne came back to the stand, eyes wide.

“Hi! What took you so long?” Sansa said in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, trying to conceal her blush.

“Uhm, I was trying to give you and mr  _Snow, the new head of the Night’s Watch org,_ some space!”

“What!?  _That_  was Jon Snow?” Sansa’s father had spoken very well of the new boss, but she knew his appointment had been a controversial one - mr Snow was young and inexperienced.

And, Sansa now knew, really cute.

“He didn’t present himself?” Jeyne asked suggestively, with a dorky wink that made Sansa smile for the hundredth time that day.

“Uhm, yeah, he did.” But Sansa decided to keep the fact that she’d now always think of the new head of the Watch as  _uncle Jon_  to herself.

For now.


	5. Not Alayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergent AU. Also for Jonsa Spring Challenge 2018, based on the dialogue prompt "Come closer. Let me look at you."

“Come closer”, he says - sounding almost in awe, as if on the verge of an outstanding discovery. Jon steps towards her, slowly. Sansa doesn’t move - she seems to have forgotten how to do so. The expression on his face - usually so sullen, so closed - is one of disbelief as he takes that last, short step and reaches her.  “ _Let me look at you._ ” 

Sansa sees his hand shaking as he lifts it to gently,  _so gently_ , remove her hood, the crackling fire casting light upon her features.

“You”, he says, “are not Alayne.”


	6. The Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirate AU, based on a prompt from @ladywolfmd:  
> "I found this from @otpdisaster: Person A being held hostage in exchange for B’s money. Person B furiously barges through the door and strangles the captor, purely over the fact that the sum demanded was nowhere near the amount A is worth. (Think this would go well with Jonsa lol)"
> 
> Kidnapping and very mild violence in this.

By now, Sansa had gotten quite used to being captured.

It must have happened almost a dozen times now - ever since she and her sister had joined the crew of  _Winterfell,_ they had been targeted by the kingsguard, rivaling pirate crews and conscience-less fortune-hunters alike. It  _always_  seemed to be  _Sansa_  they attempted to kidnap. They saw her beauty and mistook it for weakness - saw a pretty face and thought they could make money off of it. A tiresome ordeal, though Sansa barely even got frightened anymore. She was usually home by the next sundown, and she’d never been seriously hurt.

It was, of course, still not a very pleasant experience, being kidnapped, Sansa had to admit, as she sat bound to a chair in the captain’s cabin of a ship still docked in White Harbour. The crew holding her captive - freefolk, from the look of them - had not even bothered to blindfold her. Her two guards, one woman and one man with the same fiery red of their hair, payed her absolutely no mind as they played a game of cards.

Sansa straightened her back, wincing at the pain the movement induced in her tightly-bound wrists, as she listened to the sound of angry voices up on the deck. She pressed her lips together to keep a smile from showing.

There  _was_ at least  _one_  thing that was … amusing about these kidnappings.

And that was the rescues.

Sansa had already counted the days in her mind several times.  _She_  was the one who had crafted the intricate, strategic guard schedule being utilised on  _Winterfell,_ so it had taken her no time at all to figure out that Jon was on guard duty tonight. 

 _Jon_ would have been the one to find the ransom letter, which, Sansa had overheard, had demanded only  _ten_ gold coins in exchange for her freedom.

Well.

 _That_  was, indisputably, fun.

Now, the two guards quickly got to their feet as a rather furious set of footsteps could be heard making their way below deck, followed by a lighter set of steps that Sansa could only detect because she knew what to listen after. 

Jon and Arya, then. Sansa fought the urge to smile again.

She would enjoy this.

The steps came closer on the other side of the cabin door, and both of the guards drew the rapiers that’d hung from their belts as the door was - well, less opened, more kicked in, by a so adorably furious-looking Jon that Sansa could not help but smile for real this time.

His eyes found hers, and she saw the relief in them. “I’m fine”, she mouthed, and Jon nodded, fury returning to his features as he once more directed his attention to the guards before him. Arya slid in behind him, Needle in hand, approaching the female guard with unnerving speed, and - so quickly and swiftly that Sansa could barely register what happened, her sister disarmed the enemy guard.

Jon’s fighting was less, uhm, cultivated, as he - with an almost parodical rage - knocked the rapier out of the larger male guard’s hand, pressing him against the cabin wall, one hand around his neck.

 _“Who sent the ransom letter?”_  Jon demanded, the guard fighting - and failing - to get out of his grip, despite being nearly a head taller than Jon. 

 _“Who!?”_ Jon roared again.

“I did”, the male guard finally coughed, staring Jon in the eyes. Sansa had to admire his courage.

“ _Ten_  gold coins?” Jon went off.

“Oh the Stranger, here we go”, Arya muttered in the corner.

“You ask for  _ten_  gold coins for her? Ten!? For Sansa fucking Stark? How  _dare_  you?” he growled, tightening his grip around the poor guard’s throat. “That -” He dramatically gestured in Sansa’s general direction “- is the most valued woman in White Harbour. You fool. You absolute -” Jon cut himself off, cursing under his breath. The two enemy guards exchanged a look. Arya looked both annoyed and somewhat moved. 

“ _Anything_  less than a  _thousand_  gold coins,” Jon continued, looking deep into the guard’s eyes with an impressive intensity, “is an  _insult_.” He loosely slammed the guard against the wall - the man looked more surprised than frightened, if Sansa was being honest. “A  _disgrace_.” Jon slammed the man again. “A  _dishonor_.” Another slam.

Then, Jon abruptly let the man go - he tumbled down into a crouching position, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. Jon took a step back, picking up the male guard’s dropped rapier from the cabin floor.

“Arya, keep an eye on them”, he muttered as he stalked over to were Sansa was bound, his expression once more going soft, tentative. A calloused hand of his stroked her cheek in question, and she answered by leaning in to his touch. Arya cleared her throat in the corner of the cabin. 

Jon walked around to stand behind her, gently unloosening the knots. Sansa grimaced as blood painfully rushed to her wrists, causing Jon to put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze, and Arya to raise her eyebrows in silent question. Sansa smiled in answer. She was alright.

Without hesitation - time was of the essence - Jon threw the rope having been used to bind Sansa to Arya, who neatly cut it in half with Needle and then used it to bind first the female, then the male guard. Neither put up any fight - they seemed stunned to silence, still frozen in shock over Jon’s little display.

“Time to leave.” Jon offered Sansa his arm, and, with a strange formality, they moved towards the door, Arya after them like a shadow.

On the threshold, Jon halted, turning towards the bound guards on the other end of the cabin.

“Right. I almost forgot …” Jon made a big show out of bringing out and opening his pouch, beginning to fish out coins. “One, two, three, four …” He counted out loud, and Sansa smiled again as Arya groaned.

“Here’re your  _ten_  gold coins.” Jon threw them on the cabin floor. “Fools.”

Then he turned to his crewmen once more, and together they began their short walk ashore, the shadow of a smile still playing on Sansa’s lips.


	7. Can't Stop Staring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU. Also based on a first sentence prompt by @amymel86
> 
> Very, VERY light nsfw in this.

 

Jon would’ve laughed if he could stop staring long enough.

The situation was so absolutely surreal.

They’d only been dating for a couple of weeks, him and Sansa, everything still being very hush-hush. Not a single soul knew save Arya, who had caught them redhanded kissing. (That was difficult to explain away, even with Sansa’s social grace.) Robb didn’t know, her parents didn’t know, and Jon think both he and Sansa was dreading their reaction.

So he was on this trip to the family cabin up north in the name of Robb’s friend rather than Sansa’s new flame, and Jon had already found it difficult to be around Sansa while still keeping their secret. He thought they’d been doing quite well, so far, despite Arya’s meaningful stares.

But now, here, in his room, darkness having settled outside and the cabin having gone peacefully quiet, Sansa had snuck in through the door, untying her kimono to reveal a particularly racy set of underwear beneath.

(Jon thanked whatever god might be listening that he was not sharing a room with Robb, like he had on these trips when he was younger.)

And aye, Jon would almost have laughed at the absurd wish fulfilment vibe of the whole situation, had he not been busy staring.


	8. Grandparents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergent AU, based on an anonymous first sentence prompt

"So, how are we going to tell Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat they're going to be grandparents?"

It still felt a little surreal to him, to say the words. If her awed, almost shy smile was any indication, Sansa felt the same.

“I am not sure. We should wait, probably. Until after the wedding. We would not want to steal Robb’s thunder.”

“Of course”, he said softly. He  _felt_  soft, these days, like the world was a little smudged and dreamlike. 

“ _Or_  …” Sansa began hesitantly, “… we  _could_  just … tell them now? When we arrive there? If we only tell them and no one else?” She looked at him as if she was afraid he would chastise her.

Jon grinned, and squeezed her hand.


	9. Come Back To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergent/post-canon AU. For @fyeahjonandsansa 31 days of Jonsa 2018: Goodbye before battle

“Sansa.” It is all he seems to manage to say. Her beautiful blue eyes, swollen from crying, are locked on the ground, refusing to meet his. “ _Sansa._ ”

She tilts her chin up then, takes a deep breath as if bracing herself, before finally making eye contact. It breaks his heart, the pain in those eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jon”, she whispers. “I should not have come. I just wanted to say farewell, but I -” She cuts her self off, biting her lip, her eyes darting back to her feet. 

“ _Sansa_ ”, he says again. “Sansa, I  _swear_  to you -”

“ _Don’t._ ” There’s steel in that voice of hers.  _A queen’s voice_. She looks up at him again, a storm now ravaging the seas in her eyes. “Don’t you  _dare_ swear.”

“I  _swear_  to you”, he repeats, stubbornly. “I will come back.” He lifts his hand, hesitating for half a heartbeat before gently, gently cupping her cheek, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. 

He pulls back, regarding her closely, and suddenly she  _pounces_  on him, arms around his neck, embracing him as if she’ll never let go. His heart pounding so hard she must be able to feel it, he wraps his arms around her. A final whisper in her ear -

“ _I will come back to you._ ”

\- before he must, he must, he must let go.


	10. Sewing Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy canon divergent/post-canon AU.  
> Prompt fill for @archmaestergilly: "Sansa teaches Jon how to sew/knit for whatever reason, but they end up not sewing 

The sewing lessons, like most good things, begin on Sansa’s initiative.

Jon at first does not understand why she’d want to teach him sewing, of all things - Sansa insists that it is both useful and calming, though Jon somewhat doubts that his clumsy, amateurish stitches could be of any use. 

The sewing lessons aren’t all that calming to him, either - not when Sansa is so  _close_  to him all the time, leaning over to look at his work, or showing him how to do something new, their hands brushing against each other as she hands him a needle or more thread. No, not calming at all. But Jon’s certainly not complaining.

The two of them spend evening after evening by themselves by the fire, with the occasional exception of Ghost coming to lay at their feet, giant, eerily intelligent red eyes looking up at them as if the wolf’s trying to solve a puzzle. Jon doesn’t much care about the actual  _sewing_  part of the lessons, finding himself distracted by the way Sansa bites her lip when she’s concentrating or the way her hair glows in the firelight.

However, a fortnight or so into their lessons, Jon’s trembling fingers finish the last stitch of the embroidery he’s been working on, and even though it looks like absolute horse shit, Jon can’t keep a small, proud smile from his lips.

“Sansa?”

“Yes?” she says without looking up from her work. 

“I think it’s done.”  _Then_  she looks up, a rather insulting amount of disbelief in her eyes.

“Really? Jon, that’s lovely!” She leans into him, inspecting the vaguely horse-resembling direwolf he’s attempted to embroider in his lap. Jon sucks in a breath - suddenly she’s so close, her arm pressed against his. If she were to turn her head, their noses would almost be touching.

And - nearly stopping Jon’s heart - Sansa  _does_  turn her head, and suddenly those eyes are all he can see, eyes so deep a blue Jon drowns in them. There’s hesitation in those eyes, yes, but there’s something else too - something encouraging - something akin to anticipation - something that makes Jon think of something he hasn’t thought of before.

He’s spent this fortnight viewing these sewing lessons a mere excuse to be alone with Sansa, never once considering that  _she_  might have thought of them as an excuse to be with  _him_. Now that he thinks of it, it does seem rather … unnecessary, this whole Jon-should-learn-sewing business. And he  _does_  remember her blushing when he asked why she wanted him to learn, stuttering through her explanation. Perhaps, Jon barely dares think, it could be, that Jon’s not the only one who’s been savouring these quiet nights by the fire. 

It might be wishful thinking, aye - but the thought is what makes him carefully, gently lean in to her, intoxicated by the way she mirrors his movement - and finally, after a long wait, press his lips to hers.


	11. On The Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, also from an @amymel86 prompt - Jon x Alayne, she's on the run after being falsely accused of murder.

Part of him has been expecting her.

Ever since he heard the news, ever since he learned about the murder of young Joffrey and the extensive search for his presumed killer, Jon has lived in fear, each morning dreading  _this_ would be the day he learned that they had caught her. _Sansa._  

He hasn’t seen her in months. But when he opens the door and finds her on the threshold, shivering slightly from the cold, he knows her instantly, despite her looking quite different.

Her hair is much darker, the red gone, and there’s a hardness to her features, an intensity in her gaze that wasn’t there before. This is not the soft, trusting girl he used to tease in the Stark kitchen. This is a woman of steel. Something roars within Jon when he thinks about what must have been done to her to make her so.

_“Sansa?”_

“It’s Alayne now, Jon.” Her voice shakes a little, but her face remains stern. She looks over her shoulder, into the darkness behind her, a wary look on her face. “Could I… Could I come in?” Jon steps aside without hesitation, gesturing for her to enter. Sansa steps in slowly, as if not certain he means it. When she’s well inside, Jon leans out and glances in both directions before closing the door, as if expecting to discover some Lannister hitman lurking in the bushes. There’s nothing, of course. The street lies deserted, empty in the early evening.

The door closes with a clicking noise, and Jon turns to face Sansa. To his relief, she looks marginally less tense in the shelter of the house. Now she appears almost vulnerable, her lower lip quivering nearly unnoticeably. 

He doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t appear to know, either. The sounds from the TV in the living room fill out the hesitant silence. It’s the evening news that he left on. He’s been watching news like crazy, these days, wanting to stay updated on the Lannister case because of the very person standing before him now, seemingly struggling for words. 

“I … I am so sorry to come here”, she finally whispers, the earlier edge gone from her voice. “I … had nowhere else to go. They’re watching my parents’ house, and Robb, and I …” Her voice grows thick - she swallows, looking down at her feet, refusing to meet his eyes. When she looks up at him again, her blue eyes are almost pleading. “I didn’t do it, Jon. Please. You have to believe me, I’d never -”

“ _Of course you’d never._ ” The sentence comes out more forcefully than he intended it to - but finally,  _finally_  Sansa relaxes entirely, the air seemingly going out of her as she lowers her shoulders. Jon reaches out to touch her, anything to calm her, comfort her - and she leans in to his embrace slowly. He wraps his arms around her, and oh fuck how he’s missed her, and she’s  _here_  and it’s alright now. She’s safe. He’ll keep her safe. Come hell or high water, or all the Lannisters in the world.

“Sansa?” he whispers in her ear after a while. She stirs in his arms, pulling away to look him in the eyes.

“Yes?”

“Would you …” He pauses. “Would you tell me what  _actually_  happened?” She snorts, a tired, ironic sound that pinches his heart.

“I don’t know, Jon”, she says almost bitterly, looking down at the floor again, once more sounding less like Sansa and more like the girl he found on the threshold a few minutes ago.  _It’s Alayne now._ “It’s a rather long story.” 

Jon attempts an encouraging half-smile, seeking eye contact, gesturing towards the entrance of the kitchen.

“We’ve got time.” 


	12. By The Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergent/post-canon AU. Gendrya in this!
> 
> Based on an anon prompt: "Gendry takes Arya fishing as Jon and Sansa watch from afar and discuss what they think of gendry and Arya."

”What in all the seven hells …” Jon stops dead in his tracks during their evening walk by the lake, which glitters in the sunlight. Sansa eyes Jon with a mixture of confusion and amusement, turning her head to see what he’s looking at.

The sight makes her smile – two figures in a row boat, far enough out on the lake not to notice Jon and Sansa, but not far enough out to avoid being identified – it’s Arya, and that young smith, Gendry. They seem to be attempting to fish, though it doesn’t look like there’s much fishing happening -  Sansa can hear their laughter echo across the lake even from here, and the sound makes her heart ache a little. It’s been so long.

She looks back at Jon, who’s still regarding Gendry and Arya, a stern look on his face.

“I’m not sure I like that”, Jon gruffs. Sansa bites her lip to keep from smiling.

“I thought you liked him”, she says, as they continue walking, arm in arm, in the sunlight. It’s a lovely day for walking – and, Sansa supposes, fishing.

“I do – I did”, Jon mutters in response. Sansa rolls her eyes. Sometimes she fears this king-in-the-North-buisness has gone to her husband’s head – he seems to think he is control of everything, nowadays. No king has ever quite been in control of Arya – Jon should know that better than most. Sansa bites back another smile.

“Stay out of it, Jon.” She attempts to keep her voice severe, but can’t help laughing a little at Jon’s half-ashamed, half-sullen expression. Out on the lake, Arya calls Gendry something that would have made their mother send her to bed immediately. More laughter follows.

A sunny day. A good day, Sansa decides, as they continue walking down the path. They’ll be back in the castle for supper. Perhaps there’ll even be fish to eat, but Sansa doesn’t count on it – the two fishermen out on the lake seem to be having way too much fun to be relied upon today.

Sansa doesn’t mind one bit.


	13. A Slow Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon/canon divergent AU, based on an anonymous prompt:  
> "Jon and Sansa have their first kiss under the Weirwood tree."

It is a slow thing, what they’re building.

It starts in winter, as most lasting things do. Snow and ice and death and hunger, and through it all - Sansa by his side. A summer’s child turned winter woman, kissed by fire - she keeps them all warm through the storms in the darkness, and when morning breaks and the storm stills, her smile almost allows Jon to dream of spring.

It continues when spring finally arrives - when the snows begins to melt, when the ravens can fly again, when a babe is born below Winterfell’s roof and named for Sansa - it continues.

And it lives on till the return of summer. Half-melted snowdrifts still remain here and there, but any sunny weather feels warm compared to winter. One day, Sansa steps out into the sunny courtyard without her usual furs, sunlight setting her hair aglow, and Jon suddenly finds himself distracted from his sparring.

He finds her in the godswood later that day, all of a sudden realising how close to him she’s standing. 

It  _is_  a slow thing, what they’re building - what they’ll continue to build.

But as his eyes asks a question and hers give an answer and he leans in and she closes her eyes and their lips, finally, meet …

Jon knows it’s been worth the wait.


	14. Mistaken Identities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, based on an anon "mistaken identities" prompt.

Sansa isn’t sure what reaction she anticipates when waving towards Jon Snow in the King’s Landing pub. It has been several years since they’ve seen each other, after all, and she (hopefully) looks very different from the insecure teenager she was when they last met. But whatever reaction she expects, it isn’t the one she gets: Jon looking absolutely horrified when he sees her, and then after seemingly making excuses to the guys around him, he turns and - for lack of a better word - flees in the opposite direction from her, making his way towards the exit.

Sansa, puzzled, tells her friends she’ll be right back, her heels clicking as she hurries through the room to catch Jon before he literally runs out the door.

“Jon?” She puts a hand on his arm. He freezes, still acting as if they’re in a dark alley and she’s holding a gun. Not that she remembers Jon as ever being particularly smooth, but this is … strange.

“Look, I really can’t -” Jon begins, finally turning around to face her. When he looks her in the eyes, he cuts himself off, the tensity disappearing from his features, replaced by surprise and something else that creates butterflies in Sansa’s stomach. “Fucking hell -  _Sansa?_  Sansa Stark?”

“Hi, Jon.”

“I’m so sorry - I thought you were Ygritte”, he attempts to explain, adorably embarrassed. “It was the hair, I think. Bad lighting in here. I’m so sorry.” Sansa giggles, earning her a relieved smile from Jon.

“It’s fine. I’m just glad you don’t feel the need to run from  _me_  like that. What has Ygritte done to earn that kind of reaction?” Sansa asks the question in what she hopes is a lighthearted tone. Ygritte’s been Jon’s girlfriend since high school - Sansa never really got along with her. Arya, the traitor, always loved her.

“We … uhm, we broke up a while back, didn’t Robb tell you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Sansa’s going to kill him for that later. “So … bad break up, I take it then?” She gestures to her apparently-Ygritte-looking hair - Jon huffs a laugh.

“Terrible. Long story.” Sansa hesitates, glancing at her friends back at the table. When they see her looking, Jeyne dramatically fans her self with her hands as Myrcella pretends to faint and Margaery makes a rather vulgar gesture. Sansa looks back at Jon, smiling.

“You want to talk about it?”


	15. All The Time In The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU, based on a prompt from @riachan:  
> "Either Jon or Sansa can’t sleep and the other has to deal with it."

“Jon?”

There’s no answer. Sansa rolls over in bed, so that she’s almost pressed against him.

“Jon?” A grumbling in response now, then his arm around her.

“What?” His voice is dark, hoarse. She can’t tell if he’s even half awake.

“I can’t sleep, Jon.”

He’s quiet for so long that she begins to think he must have been sleeping after all, when he finally replies.

“Read your book, love.” Jon attempts to sound severe, but Sansa hears his smile in the dark as he pulls her even closer, clumsily burying his face in her hair, his movements drowsy from sleeping.

“That’s the thing”, Sansa whispers, stifling tired-yet-not giggles at his tone. “I finished it an hour ago and now I can’t stop thinking about it and I can’t sleep.” He hums wordlessly against the back of her head in response - Sansa can feel he’s drifting off again. That’s unfortunate - she really wanted to talk to him about the plot of the novel. Sansa’s sure he’d like it.

Oh well, it can wait until tomorrow, she thinks in the dark of their bedroom, wrapped in Jon’s arms, as she feels the long-awaited sleep come closer at last.

They’ve got all the time in the world.


	16. The Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also a modern AU, also based on a @riachan prompt, this time a first sentence prompt. :)

“What are you hiding?” he asked, tone suspicious, eyes narrowed, like a cartoon detective about to crack the case. Sansa swore silently to herself while trying to keep a straight face. Fuck. He always saw right through her.

“Nothing!” she said, in the voice of someone who was very, very clearly a) hiding something and b) wanting to keep it a secret. “I’m just … stressed. We’re going to be late.”

“Then why are you smiling like that?” He raised his eyebrows, beginning to look legitimately concerned.

“I’m just looking forward to the dinner, is all! If that’s ever happening. Seriously. They’ll cancel our reservations soon. We’re …” She glanced at her phone. “Thirty minutes late and we haven’t even left the house yet.”

With a facial expression that told her he hadn’t at all bought her excuse, he - thankfully - let it slide and dropped the subject, heading into the closet, letting Sansa sneak back into the bathroom and tuck away something in a safe, secret place.

She took one last look at the pregnancy test before closing the cabinet, a wolfish grin spreading across her face again.

She’d tell him tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for now, guys - do let me know what you think, and you can always come say hello or prompt me on tumblr, I'm azulaahai on there too.


End file.
